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An Irish- American Play, 




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^ When all Fruits Fail, 
Welcome Haws. 



Maurice M." Murray, Coulterville, Cal. 

Author of the "phcenix Park Songster." 







An Irish- American Play, 



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Maurice M, Mqrray, Coulterville, Cal. 

Author of the "phcenix Park Songster." 



STOCKTON, CAL.: 

EVENING MAIL STEAM BOOK AND JOB PRINT. 



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Copyright by Maurice Mdriarty Murray 

Rights Reserved for Modifying or CurtHiling. 
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THE MAID OF MANY LOVERS, 



-OR- 



When all Fruits Fail, Welcome Haws. 



INTRODUCTION. 

The Subject of the Play is the Widow McDermet and her most 

beautiful and attractive daughter Dora. Miss Dora must 

be very coquettish with all her lovers, most of the time 

dressed bewitchingly simple. She wears a very 

short dress, displaying her beautiful leg and 

foot. The scenery must disclose a nice 

cottage embosomed amongst green 

bushes and shade trees. 



SCENE ONE. 

Miss Dora is seen at the wash tub ; she rubs a moment, wipes 
her hands and advances toward the foot-lights. 

Dora — Oh ! How I'd like to be washing my 
husband's shirts and jumpers, and keeping his but- 
tons in good. Well, I'm looking pretty rough. I 
wonder if my lover Dan will be here to-day ? 

Mother enters. 



Mother — Oh ! Dora, dear; you'll be afther catch- 
ing cold. 

Dora — Never mind, dear mother ; as long as 
you don't scold, 

I dread no cold, I feel no storm; 
For my young heart keeps me warm. 

Mother — Well that's all right, my dear ; but I 
heard you say "jumpers," and all poor men wear 
jumpers — miners and laborers. I'd have you hold 
your head higher, my dear. You will never marry 
a poor man with my consent. 

Dora — Well, mother, I'll do the best I can, 
But here comes my lover Dan. 

Enter Dan, with paint brush and pot in hand and a white apron 
on ; lays down the paint pet, holding the brush in his hand; 
salutes Dora and her mother ; they all shake hands, and 
Dan kisses Dora and whispers to her that he would soon go 
to the mines ; the old lady gets her face close to them, and 
as Dan disengages from Dora the paint brush is brought 
across the old lady's face. She acts a little mad, and Dan 
pulls off his apron and wipes the paint off, but the old lady 
pushes him away ; Dora runs to the wash tub, brings a wet 
cloth and wipes her mother's face. In the meantime Dan 
is making all kinds of apologies. 

Mother — You had better be off to your work, 
Dan. [Shakes her cane at him.] 

Dan puts his brush in the pot and advances to shake hands with 
Dora ; the old lady gets between them ; they hold each 
other's hands ; the old lady shakes her head. 

Mother — Get off to your work Dan, none of 
that sweet humming-bird business in my presence. 

Dora — Oh ! Mother, Dan is going to the 
mines. 

Mother — Oh ! bother, let him go. 

Dora and Dan drop their hands and pull out their handerchiefs; 
waiving adieu to each other; Dora wipes her eyes; feels 
languid. 



Mother — Come, Dora dear, for a walk among 
the wild flowers [clasping Dora's hand]. I know 
how it is — I was young myself once [puts her hand 
up to her sombre looking cap]. Come, dear, come. 

[the curtain drops.] 



SCENE TWO. 

As the curtain rises, Dora, who appears to be in a hurry, meets 
her mother. 

Mother — Where are you going, dear ? 

Dora — Oh ! Mother, I thought I heard music. 
Might I marry a musician? You know I'm sweet 
sixteen to-day. 

Mother — Yes, my dear. A mechanic, a musi- 
cian, a merchant, a gentleman, or anybody with a 
good bank account. But no sailors or soldiers un- 
less they have a title above a private or a shell- 
back. 

Dora — Well, Mother, I rather like sailors. You 
know father was one, and he made you comfort- 
able and was a o-ood father. 



.•5 



Mother — My dear, you poor father is dead and 
gone years ago, and I don't want your lovers to 
know that your father was a sailor, unless that I 
could say he commanded a ship. You are hand- 
some, my dear, and your face is a fortune to you. 
Hold your head up; set your net for big fish, and 
don't marry the small fry around here. 



. Dora — Oh ! Mother, I Hke washing and slushing, 
Hke you did [picking up her apron at the same time, 
showing the mother how she could rub — ^just then 
a violin begins playing]. Oh ! Mother, there's the 
music I heard — It's a fiddle ! It's a fiddle ! 

Dora dances around her mother; the old lady takes a step or 
two, then stops and exclaims : 

Mother — Oh ! Would to heaven I were young 
aofain. 

Dora — Mother, I wish I had a partner. 

Just then in comes Dan; a pipe in his mouth and a shovel on 
his shoulder; throws down the shovel; salutes the ladies, 
and starts in dancing a lively step; the dance finished, 
Dan pulls the pipe out of his mouth; snaps a kiss; picks 
his shovel up. Exit Dan; the old lady after him with a 
cane. 

[the curtain drops] 



SCENE THREE. 

Dora is seen taking a walk among the green bushes; she is 
dressed in stylish white muslin; dress very low in the neck; 
a wreath of wild flowers on her head, and wearing a beauti- 
ful necklace; a bunch of flowers in her hand. She 
advances to the foot-lights. Just then a musician comes 
along, playing the "Young May Moon," or some other 
lively air. She waves a recognition to him with her bonny 
bunch of flowers. He takes his hat off, advances, and 
she smilingly proffers her hand, then gives him a chair. 

Dora — I'll give you the choicest flower I've got 
if you will be kind enough to play me one tune. 

Musician — If you give me my favorite, I'll 
never cease to please you. 



Dora — My clear sir, you must have it. 

Musician- — Well, the flower I wish is the pretty 
hand that holds the bunch. 

Dora — Oh ! My dear stranger, I couldn't give 
you that. 

Musician — Why ? my dear 

Dora — Oh ! I have a lover who plows the 
ocean. Last night I dreamed he came back to 
me. My bosom swells with fond devotion for my 
dear Willie away at sea. 

Enter post-boy, who hands Dora a letter. 

Dora — Oh! My dear little fellow, I'll give you 
a kiss for that [kisses the letter]. 

Musician — Bestow one of those sweet kisses on 
me, and don't be wasting them on the paper. 

Dora shakes her head and presses the letter to her heart. 
The musician moves as if to leave. 

Dora — ^Call again, stranger. 

Musician — Thank you, Miss ; I will. 

Enter Sailor Bill, her sweetheart. 

Sailor — Hello ! You land lubber. What do you 
want here, with this sweet tulip of mine ? 

The lovers embrace ; the musician starts in to rosin his bow. 

Sailor — vSay, you land shark, play something. 
But my little primrose, here, will sing one verse 
first ; then I'll give you a step [and he hitches up 
his pants, sailor like, and shuffles his feet]. 

Dora sings and Willie helps, with violin accompaniment. 



Sailor — song. 

Oh ! come, my Dora, come ; the wedding day to name, 
For a walk and a talk, down yonder shady lane. 
My love for you is boundless ; my heart it does explain. 
I,ets wander and grow fonder, down yonder shady lane. 

Dora— 

Oh ! Willie, dear ; you love me and I love \Villie, too ; 
But the sun is in the west love, and darkness will pursue. 
The sun is in the west, and the robins seek their nest ; 
But you are my bonnie boy, the lad that I love best. 

Sailor — 

Then place your hand in mine love,you've won my hand and heart. 
You've won your Willie's heart, now never shall we part. 

Dora — 

We'll walk and talk. Ah ! But mother she would blame. 
Pray excuse, if I refuse love, to wander down the lane. 

Sailor — 

Oh ! Dora, my darling ; your mother is cross and old ; 
When she was young and beautiful, she would never scold. 
When she was young and beautiful, a comely little dame. 
She went larking and sparking, down yonder shady lane. 

Dora — 

Oh ! Willie dear, you love me; now linger here along. 
I'll share my love all with you, I'll sing my love a song. 
For the sun is in the v>'est, sweet birdies all at rest. 
But you are, my sailor, the lad that I love best. 

Sailor — 

Then place your hand in mine love, the one that's next your heart; 
You've won your Willie's heart, now never will we part, 
We'll join in holy wedlock, no matter who may frown ; 
Don't tarry love, we'll marry love, just as the sun goes down. 

Sailor — Well, Dora my dear, I learned to dance 
a little on board ship. I'll just show you a few 
steps. Come, fiddler, give us something lively. 
[Dances sailor's hornpipe.] 



SCENE FOUR. 

The lovers approach each other from opposite directions, 
meeting in the center of the stage. 

Sailor — How do you do, my angel, my loving, 
living compass that shapes my destiny and steers 
me on my course ? I wish you could make this 
last trip with me, Dora. How happy I'd be 
listening to your beautiful musical voice, and look- 
ing at those lovely, laughing top-lights of yours. 

Dora — My Willie, darling, what is to be will be, 
but I long to see your anchor droped for the last 
time, and hear the joyous wedding bells chime.' 

Sailor — 

Dora, once more I plow the seas al! o'er. 
And then return to part no more. 
Corals and rubies of the richest hue 
I'll bring to you, my Dora true. 

Now cheer up, old gal [gives his waist a hitch] 
and we'll have a song. 

SINGS. 

Oh ! the ship it has arrived, love ; 
Your Willie has survived, love ; 
And soon you'll be my bride, love, 

And we will dwell upon the shore. 
For I love you sweet Dora ; 
There's no maid before you ; 
And now I implore you, 

Your love for ever more. 

[The chorus, a waltz air, " Fal the dal," etc., is waltzed by the 
sailor and Dora. I 



Dora- 



Oh ! Willie, I have missed thee ; 
Oft times thou hath kissed me, 
Caressed me and blessed me. 

You're the lad I adore, 
P'or my heart it is yours, 
And your absence endures, 
And love has its cure in wedlock I'm sure. 



[Chorus as before.] 

Sailor — 

Here is my hand and my heart, dear ; 
No, Dora love, don't fear ; 

O'er the ocean, my darling, the ship I must steer. 
But this is the last time 
I'll cross o'er the salt brine ; 
Then we'll hear the sweet bells chime. 
To part love no more. 

[Chorus as before.] 

Sailor — Now, Dora, the next time we dance, it 
will be at our own wedding. 

Mother enters. 

Mother — Not much, if I know myself, and I 
guess I do. Oh ! my darling pet, I thought that 
nasty sailor had rolled you up in his dunnage, you 
were stopping so long. 

Sailor — I wish I had, before you came along. 
[Lovers laugh.] 

Mother — Well, I declare ; if there is anything I 
detest, it is this sentimental way they have of court- 
ing around here. 

Sailor — Well, mother-in-law, you were young 
once, and should not forget it. [The old woman 
threatens Willie with her cane.] 



Mothei'- — You'll come back and marry my Dora, 
will you. I heard all your sailor nonsense. Now 
the best thing you can do is to go aboard of your 
ship. You have not money enough to marry my 
daughter. Your money goes for rum and tobacco. 
I know what sailors are. [Pulls out her snuff-box 
and takes a pinch; shakes a little all round herself] 
Oh, dear ! pitch and tar, pitch and tar, the very 
smell polutes the air all around me. I have to 
counteract it with my snuff, dear Dora. 

The lovers wave their handkerchiefs in adieus. 

Mother — Dora, you appear to be languid and 
out of sorts. Come, my dear pet, for a walk 
amongst those green bushes, it will cheer you 
up. Come dear, come [leading her off]. 

[the curtain drops 1 



SCENE FIVE. 

Mother — Now, my dear child, never marry a 
sailor, they have a wife in every port. 

Dora — [imploringly I — Well, my dear mother, 
who will I marry ? You know I'm sweet sixteen 
to-day. Oh! mother, how I'd like to wash my 
husband's shirts and jumpers [rubs her knuckles 
together]. 

Mother — Jumpers again. I say marry a mer- 
chant or a mechanic, for your face is fair enough 
to gain a millionaire. If the bonanza king of 
California was single, my dear, he would jump at 
the chance, and other millionaires as well, but I 
would prefer him because he has a touch of the 
Emerald about him [a bell rings]. There, dear, I'll 
be back by and by [leaves abruptly]. 



Dora — Well, well, if I take mother's advice I'm 
afraid I 'd be left on the upper shelf, and once there, 
my lovers wont reach for me. Well, I wont go to 
a nunnery. I am going to have a husband at all 
hazards. Let me see, mother says a mechanic or 
a merchant. 

A tinker comes along, singing : 

Pots to mend, kettles to mend, 
Why don't you come along; 

I love the ladies all, 

I'll work and sing my song. 

Throws down his budget and salutes Miss Dora. 

Tinker — Oh ! what a pretty flower, and all 
alone. 

Dora — Are you a mechanic, sir ^ 

Tinker — Yes, Miss. 

Dora — Oh ! I like mechanics. 

Tinker — I am a tin-plate worker, but the hood- 
lums call us tinkers. 

Dora — Mother's tea-pot lost its handle; can you 
mend it ? 

Tinker — Yes, my dear, I'll put a handle on your 
tea-pot while a cat would wink. 

Dora — Sit down, sir, I'll go for it [exit Dora]. 

He shouts "pots to mend, kettles to mend " Dora returns. 
The tinker has another pot just like it in his budget— strikes 
a match, puts his iron in the portable furnace he carries in 
his hand, hammers a little, exchanges the pots, jumps up. 

Tinker — Now, my dear, was I long? 

Dora — No, sir; you are a mechanic I see; here 
is your money. 

12 



Tinker —0\i ! bless your little soul, keep the 
money; a kiss is all I want for that. 

Dora — Oh ! hands off, sir, you're a stranger. 

Tinker — Yes, and vou're an anorel. 

Dora — Oh ! don't flatter me now. 

Tinker — Its no flattery at all. Miss Dora, al- 
though your father and mine kissed the Blarney 
stone. Well, I'll orive vou a verse and then I'll go 
my rounds [smgsj. 

Oh ! Its pots to mend, kettles to mend. 

Why don't you come along; 
I'd work a month for nothing, 

And sing my love a song. 

CHORUS — Pots to mend, etc. 

Here's my iron, here's my solder, 

My rosin box and tin; 
I'd sell them all this minute 

For a drop of Holland gin. 

CHORUS — Pots to mend, etc. 

Oh ! I'm a jolly tinker, 

I ramble 'round and 'round; 
And whenever I get a job, my lads, 

I'm willing to sit down. 

CHORUS— Pots to mend, etc. 

Oh? Dora, you're my darling, 
An angel on the wing; 
I wish that you were mine, love, 
How happy would I sing. 

CHORUS — Pots to mend, etc. 

Tinker — Well, now I must go; good-by, my 
sweet violet. I'll give you my budget and all I 
have in it for one smiling sweet kiss. 

Dora shakes hands with him; he kisses it. 

13 



Dora — Call again, stranger; -you're a mechanic. 

Enter mother in a hurry, shaking her stick at the tinker and 
ordering him off. Exit tinker, bawling "tins to mend, ket- 
tles to mend." 

Alother — You didn't let that rough fellow kiss 
you ? 

Dora — Oh ! no, mother, but he's a mechanic. 
Didn't he make a nice job on your tea-pot ? 

Mother — Yes, dear. I must go and make a 
cup of tea. 

Dora — All right, mother. When I marry a 
merchant we'll all be comfortable [exit mother]. 

Just then a peddler comes along, pla3nng a tin flute to draw cus- 
tom; lays his baskets down and salutes Miss Dora. 

Peddler — Miss McDermet, I presume ? 

Dora — Yes, sir. And your name ? 

Peddler — Here's my card, Ned O'Donohue, I 
am a nephew of the great merchants of that name 
in London. 

Dora — Oh ! yes, take a chair, master Ned. I 
presume you are a merchant also ? 

Peddler — Yes, Miss McDermet. 

She pulls her chair over beside him and says: "I'm very partial 
to young merchants" — giggles and laughs a little. He 
w^hispers a little love in her ear. She toys with her fan and 
rubs it over his mustache - he twMsts it up again with his 
fingers "Its too bad, master Ned, for me to take that nice 
curl out of your mustache." Just then the mother is seen 
coming — Uora jumps up. 

Dora — Here, mother, let me introduce my 
friend, Mr. O'Donohue, to you. He is a merchant 

Ned picks up his basket and tells Dora to help herself to some 
candy. 

14 



Peddler — Can I sell you some of Barbour's 
Irish thread. 

Mother — [She puts her glasses on and surveys 
him from head to foot] I think I know you, my 
boy. You call yourself a merchant ? 

Peddler — Don't you see that block of timber- 
pulling up a block of matches — I'm a small timber 
merchant. 

Mother — Well, get out of here as fast as you 
can, Ned, the match peddler, who was arrested 
last week in an opium den. 

Peddler sticks his whistle in his mouth and plays "The Girl I 
Left Behind Me " He plays two bars and the old woman 
orders him off and rushes after him wirh her cane raised. 
Dora rushes to pull her mother back. 

[the curtain drops.] 



SCENE SIX. 

Dora is washing where her lover Dan met her some time ago. 
Dan has a beautiful suit of clothes on, but hides them un- 
der an old miner's suit. Carries a pick on his shoulder and 
resembles in every way a regular 49er. As he comes on 
the stage he enquires who lives here now. Dora rushes 
over to him. 

Dora — This is the Widow McDermet's, sir. 

Dan — [Pulls his hat off and salutes her.] And 
you are her pretty daughter. 

Dora — [Seems confused, but thinks she knows 
the voice.] Have you never been here before, sir ? 



Dan — Well, yes, Miss, many a time. [Dora 
scans him from head to foot.] Don't you know 
me, Dora ^ 

Dora — Oh ! I know that voice. 

Dora springs into his arms. They fondly embiace. Dora puts 
her handkerchief to her eyes. 

Dora — Oh, Dan, my darling, I'm crying with 
joy to see you ! 

Dan — Well, Dora, I heard you had many ad- 
mirers since I went to the mines, and now is it, 
"When all fruits fail, welcome haws?" 

Dora — No, Dan, my darling ; I am yours as 
ever, and have my first and last love for you. 

They clasp hands 

Dan — I would rather have this small hand of 
yours and give it one fond clasp than all the wealth 
of the Bonanza King and the great Ballarat nugget 
thrown in. Why, I've been over to Tombstone, 
you little fairy, and made lots of money for you — 

Now in New York and London and Paris, too, 
We'll roam for pleasure, my Dora, so true ; 
Now for Hymen's chains and marriage laws, 
And " when all fruits fail, you're welcome haws." 

Dora — Oh, Dan ! you know I'm true to you if 
you hadn't a cent. It was mother, you know, or 
else I'd take pleasure in washing your jumpers and 
keeping your buttons in order. 

Enter Mother. 

Mother — Ha ! ha ! there's jumpers again. Who 
is this you have now ? Some old miner, I guess. 

Dora — Don't you know him, mother? It's my 
old lover, Dan; he has been to the mines. 



Mother — Oh, been to the mines and, I suppose, 
come back strapped. Well, I don't want my Dora 
to wash any miner's jumpers. 

Dora (whispering) — Mother, he has struck a 
bonanza; he is rich. 

Mother — Well, Dan, shake hands with your old 
torment, anyhow. Sure it's myself that always 
liked the boy. Did I ? 1 guess I did. 

Dan — Here's a present for you, mother — a 
check for $20,000. Excuse me for calling you 
mother. 

Mother — Oh, ves, my darlino^ boy; sure it's 
mother-in-law I want you to call me. Here is a 
Chispa to make a ring for you. Yes, get the ring; 
tret the rinp-. 



fe 



Dora and Dan laugh at Mother's great fondness for Dan. Dan 
throws off the disguise and gives Dora a lovely box of 
jewels. 

Dan — You see, I didn't forget the ring. [Fits 
the ring on.] There, Dora; run off and change 
your dress and send a boy for the priest. 

Exit Dora. 

Dan — Now, mother, you often said, "marry for 
love and work for riches," but the devil a bit of 
Dora would you give me, only I happened to strike 
it. 

Mother — Oh ! Dan, my son, I was always jok- 
ing with you. Here's the priest, and here's Dora. 
Stand in Dan and tie the knot — tie the knot. 

All stand around the priest during the marriage ceremory. 
The groomsman tries to get the first kiss. Dan shoves him 
aside. 



Dan — No other man shall kiss my wife first but 
me. 

Dan and the groomsman jostle about trying to get the first kiss. 
The priest and the others stand around laughing at the 
struggle, while the bridesmaids try to pull the groomsman 
away. 

[the curtain drops.] 



SCENE SEVEN. 

[LASrSCENEr] 

The table is decked out gorgeously and the guests all seated. 
They clink their glasses, and three of the party get up and 
dance an Irish reel; after which they set down to the table 
again and enjoy the viands. An old Irishman enters with 
a pipe in his mouth; a lot of boys follow him. Tne Boys 
have a fife and a tin flute, a small drum and tin pans for 
cymbals. They march in playing "St. Patrick's Day" or 
"Garryowen." When they finish playing, the old Irish- 
man says that they want to see Mr. O'Neill. Dan 
steps out and asks the old man what he wants ? 

Old Man — Oh ! sure we came here to honor 
you, Mr. O'Neill, and that darling little duck of a 
wife^ yours; and its myself that would like to 
drink both your healths. 

Dan puts his hand in his pocket and gives the old man a hand- 
ful of silver. 

Dan — Now get out of my house and treat all 
the boys. 

Old Man — Oh ! sure you might be after giving 
me a little drop — pointing to the table. 

Dan picks up the decanter and gives him a drink. 

Old Man — Well, here goes that you may never 
die at all, until a grasshopper can carry you to 

18 



the grave, and then, my boy, may you have a jump- 
ing funeral [all hands laugh]. Now, my boys, fall 
into line [they get into line — the old man in front. 
The ladies give the boys some cakes, which they 
put in their pockets]. Now start, start the tune 
up my chickens. 

The boys salute the ladies, strike up a lively tune and march off. 

Dora — Now, Dan, give us a song as you're up, 
and then we'll have a dance. 

Dan — All right, my dear [sings]. 

Oh ! I'm one of the boys from Telegraph Hill, for balls and 

hops and all such pleasure. 
Whisky hot or cold, or mashing ladies at my leisure. 
One day I met a lady, gay in frills and furs, her manners merry. 
She mashed me so, I do not know how it happened at Oakland 

Ferry. 

CHORUS — -Tural, lural, lural lu, 

Tural, lural, lural ladie. 

Oh ! I asked if I might sit down beside her, she was so 

bev/itching. 
She said I might if Id do right, but for a kiss my mouth was 

itching. 
Oh ! wont you be my darling bride, my own dear duck, my .* 

artless honey. ^^ /tM^ A^Ut. /utm.e/ O^lff /fU 
CHORUS— Turul, lural, lural lu,<^^ ^-O^C/^, ^(rU^J-*^^/^ 
Tural, lural, lural ladie-, J^^LC>( ^ '^O^.^c/U^ ^4/'f'~^^^t^ 
Hurrah, my boys for wedlock joys, "^td^/yy^LJ^ ^ 

And lots of toys when you're a daddy. ^ '^-■^^^ -y 

Oh ! we scarcely had been married a year, my darling dear 

hung up her fiddle. 
Her tongue so long, it went ding dong; if I'm not wrong, 'twas 

hung in the middle. 
She smashed the chairs, upset the stove; two little twins in the 

cradle screeches. 
She knocked me out in the very first bout, saying I'm the woman 

that wears the breeches. 



CHORUS — As before. 

19 



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Oh ! when I was a single man I lived high on the best of 

dishes, 
But now I'm a married man, and my dear wife she wears 

the breeches. 
My life is rough, my dishes tough; I've a thousand woes I 

count in niches. 
My wife she crows; my blood it flows when she shouts she wears 

the breeches. 

CHORUS — As before. 

Now all young California boys, when your big hearts feel 

loving twitches. 
Choose a country maid, don't be afraid, they are never made to 

wear the breeches. 
I'll have a divorce, why yes, of course; and then my sad heart 

It may grow merry. 
But I'll never forget the day I met my darling pet at 

Oakland Ferry. 

CHORUS — As before. 



After the song all join in dancing, and at its conclusion they 
form line and facing the audience. The curtain drops and 
the play is finished. 











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